Tòrr watched with growing irritation as she fumbled with the bandage, her hands shaking so badly she could barely grip the cloth. Blood continued to seep through her fingers, dark against the silk of her torn sleeve.
"Christ's bones, lass," Cameron muttered, cleaning his blade nearby. "Just let the man help ye before ye faint dead away."
"I'm nae goin' tae faint," she snapped, but even as she said it, she swayed slightly.
Tòrr had seen enough. "Dae ye need help, or are ye determined tae prove yer point by bleedin' tae death?"
“I’m nae dyin’”
"Course nae. Just like ye're nae bleedin' through that useless knot ye've tied." He gestured at her arm where blood had already soaked through the cloth. "Hand it over."
"I..." She looked down at the blood-soaked cloth in her hands, at the way her attempts to tie it had only made the bleeding worse. "Fine. But be quick about it."
"Quick as I can." He stepped closer, noting how she tensed at his approach. "Hold still."
The gash was deeper than he'd thought, running from just below her elbow nearly to her wrist. The bastard's blade had slicedclean through silk and skin alike, and Tòrr felt his jaw clench at the sight.
"This will hurt," he warned, then grasped her sleeve and tore it further, exposing the full length of the wound.
"What are ye daein’?" She gasped, trying to pull away, her free hand flying to cover the exposed skin of her arm.
He caught her wrist to hold her still, ignoring the way she flinched at his touch. "I own ye now, lass. That means I dae whatever's necessary tae keep ye alive and whole. Modesty has nay place when ye’re life is at risk."
"Ye dinnae own me," she hissed, but she stopped struggling.
"The coin I paid yer faither says otherwise." He began wrapping the bandage around her arm with practiced efficiency.
"I highly doubt ye care about me wellbein’," she shot back. "More likely ye're worried about damaged goods."
"I'm worried about ye bleedin' all over the creation because ye're too proud tae accept help when ye need it."
"I never asked fer yer help!"
"Nay, but ye need it all the same." He tested the bandage's tension. "There. That should hold."
She yanked her arm back the moment he released it. "Are ye satisfied?"
"Far from it," he replied dryly. "But it'll dae fer now."
Cameron's laugh echoed through the clearing. "Christ, Tòrr. Did ye buy yerself a wife or a wildcat?"
"Remains tae be seen," Tòrr answered, watching as the lass stalked toward the horses with as much dignity as she could muster in her torn gown. "Though I'm startin' tae suspect it might be both."
The horses were where they'd left them, tied to a cluster of birch trees at the forest's edge. Tòrr's black stallion stamped restlessly, sensing the violence that had just passed, while Cameron's bay mare stood placid and unbothered.
When they reached the animals, Tòrr moved to lift the lass onto his horse, but she stepped back, shaking her head.
"I can mount a horse meself, thank ye very much."
"Nae with that arm, ye cannae." Before she could protest further, he caught her around the waist and lifted her sideways onto his saddle. "And nae in that gown."
The moment his hands touched her waist, something electric shot between them. He felt her go rigid in his grasp, heard her sharp intake of breath, and for just an instant, her eyes met his.
He swung up behind her.
She twisted to face him. "What's wrong with me gown?"
"Besides the blood and the fact that it's been slashed to ribbons?" He gathered the reins. "The fact that it is impossible tae move around in."
